


Sansa Stark’s Incomplete Guide on How to Ruin Family Events

by OrangeTabby



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Dynamics, Humor, Light Angst, Minor Violence, Modern Westeros, Praise Kink, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29104557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeTabby/pseuds/OrangeTabby
Summary: Sansa Stark has worked hard to be where she is in life, and she is sick and tired of the endless judgement from her family.Will the answer to her problems be found with the man who placed a compelling ad in the local paper? Will he help her ruin the upcoming family celebration?From The Northern Morning Herald classified section:Big scary f**kerAvailable for intimidation, interrogation, cat sitting, family events and hostage negotiation.Ph. 555 7986 376
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Joffrey Baratheon/Margaery Tyrell, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Robb Stark/Jeyne Westerling, Robert Baratheon/Cersei Lannister, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Tommen Baratheon/Rickon Stark
Comments: 234
Kudos: 537





	1. The Meet Up

**Author's Note:**

> The premise for this story was inspired by the wonderful Rickeen story [Thanksgiving](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3701985) by FrozenSnares.
> 
> The E-rating and related tags are for chapter 4, the rest of the story is an M.

**From Northern Morning Herald Classifieds:**

**Big scary fucker**

**Available for intimidation, interrogation, cat sitting, family events and hostage negotiation.**

**Ph. 555 7986 376**

Sansa stared at the ad clipping, now crumpled after being in her purse for a week. She looked around the park, trying to work out which of the passers-by might be the big scary man.

Sandor, he’d mentioned his name was when she called. He had said to look out for someone very tall, with dark hair, tattoos and a “fucked up face”.

Sansa had told the man that she would wear a red coat with a black scarf, and that her auburn hair would be up in a messy bun. She’d take her warm hat off so she would be recognisable. He had recommended they meet in a public place for safety’s sake, and she agreed.

“Sansa,” said a rasping voice.

Her gaze travelled up. And up. And up.

He was less scary than she had expected, was her first thought.

Imposing, would be more accurate. With his massive build, stern features, and tattoos on the visible flashes of skin that she could see.

Sexy.

Sansa swallowed and plastered on the best smile that she reserved for nervous patients. Or rather, the nervous owners of her patients.

“Sandor, hello.” She held out her hand, and it was engulfed by his.

Her friend Myranda would doubtless have a lot to say about the size of his hands and what that signified. Sansa’s gaze drew itself inexorably down towards his feet. They were also big.

She swallowed and looked back up at Sandor’s face. Burn scars covered half of it, distorting his features, but he had lovely grey eyes.

His demeanour was impassive, but she could have sworn there was a flash in his eyes that looked amused. “Ugly enough for you?”

“You’re not, I mean, I don’t…” Sansa closed her own eyes and gathered her thoughts. “You said you do family events?”

“And here I was looking forward to some hostage negotiation.” His expression was still deadpan, but the unscarred side of his mouth quirked up. “Aye, I’ll act as an escort to family events. No fucking though, I’m not that kind of escort.”

Sansa’s face flamed hot. “I wasn’t here for that,” she said, her voice lamentably unsteady.

“Never thought I’d regret that rule,” he muttered, though Sansa was not sure if he meant her to hear that.

“I want to have a boyfriend for a family event, so people stop pestering me about needing to find someone. The gathering is for the Feast of the Mother, so I can’t skip it like I usually do.” Sansa ploughed on, heedless of her embarrassment. “But I need a boyfriend who is, ah, uncouth. One who isn’t shy about causing trouble. One who is willing to ruin the evening.”

Sandor crossed his arms over his chest. “Aye, I can cause trouble. You hate your family enough to inflict me on them? Instead of just not attending, even if it is Feast of the Mother?”

“I don’t want to cut all ties by never attending events, and I don’t hate them,” Sansa said slowly, then sighed. “Well, I don’t hate most of them. I should give you some background. Do you want to get a takeaway coffee and walk?”

The occasional snowflake drifted around them, but the day was otherwise a perfect Northern day, cold and crisp. They walked around the partly frozen duck pond, breath clouding in puffs. The coffee bolstered Sansa, hot and strong.

“There’s two reasons why I want an uncouth ‘boyfriend’.” Sansa made air quotes with her free hand, her fingers encased by the navy-blue gloves she’d knitted for herself.

Sandor grunted, apparently urging her on.

“One, is that my family wants me to marry someone in society and then ditch my career to focus on having babies. To be a traditional Northern woman of my status. That’s apparently all I’m worth, my womb, and my ability to get a partner that they deem acceptable.”

Sandor raised his existing eyebrow in mute question, almost as high as the edge of his beanie.

“I’m a Stark,” she said, suppressing a sigh.

That got a verbal response. “Like the Governor?”

“Yes, Ned Stark is my dad.”

“Fuck.”

Sansa grimaced. “If you change your mind, I understand. You’re not getting paid after all. Though of course I’d be happy to…”

“No money,” said Sandor sharply. “I do things for people. Don’t want pay. Don’t need it.”

They walked in an awkward silence past several ducks and then a goose that eyed them with clear malevolence before Sandor continued.

“I don’t give a shit if you’re a Stark.” His breath billowed in front of them with the force of his words. “Politicians are cunts anyway.”

Sansa huffed a laugh despite his terrible language. “Yes, well. I’ve made my own way in life, and I’m a veterinarian. I’m so tired of the constant harping about me needing to get married and reproduce to show my worth as a person.” She shrugged before she continued. “So I want to attend for once, but get the petty satisfaction of having the evening ruined. Maybe then they’ll stop going on at me about my choices.”

“Aye, that’s reasonable as fuck. You want a fuckwit boyfriend to make a point. What’s the other reason?”

“My ex will be there. His father is my dad’s best friend. My ex was,” Sansa’s voice wobbled, and she took a slow sip of coffee to calm the memories of past hurts. “Well, he was unkind to me. It was a horrible relationship. I told my family about it, but they think I was being dramatic about the way he treated me, that it’s been long enough anyway, and I shouldn’t be bothered by seeing him since our families are so close.”

“And by ‘unkind’, you mean?” Sandor’s voice had dropped to a growl.

“He didn’t hit me,” Sansa said quickly. “Just verbal stuff mostly, calling me ugly and stupid. Trying to control where I went, who I talked to. Eventually I believed the things he said, believed how useless I was. It took me ages to be able to leave him.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘just’ with that abusive shit. Any kind of abuse. He sounds like a fucking waste of space.” Sandor gave a thoughtful hum. “You want me to fuck him up? Break his nose? Kick him in the balls?”

“No nothing like that. I only need you to behave badly, to be a jerk.”

“Piss off your unreasonable family and shield you from your cunt ex. I can do that.”

Apprehension that Sansa didn’t realise she’d been feeling lifted from her shoulders. “Thank you, Sandor. You’re a life saver.”

***

**From:** Sansa Stark <Dr_SMStark@WinterfellVetServices.north>

**Sent:** 2nd Smithsday of the 9th Moon, 6.32am

**To:** Sandor Clegane <Sandor.A.Clegane@NorthMail.com>

**Subject** : guide to the potential dinner guests

Hi Sandor,

Thank you so much for this, I really appreciate it.

Who will be at the dinner:

Catelyn Stark (my Mum): very traditional. Deeply opposed me becoming a vet, thinks it’s beneath a Stark. Thinks I should get married asap because I’m not getting any younger and soon no man will want to have children with me.

Ned Stark (my Dad): very traditional. Distantly tolerant of my choices but perplexed as to why I have made those choices instead of, you guessed it, marriage and babies.

Robb Stark (older brother): Mum and Dad’s obvious favourite and can do no wrong. Wants to follow in Dad’s political steps.

Jeyne Stark (older brothers wife): Insufferably smug because she got pregnant with Eddy as soon as she married Robb. She’s Catelyn Stark 2.0.

Eddy Stark (my nephew): okay he’s actually a really cute baby.

Arya Stark (younger sister): She gets all the family angst when I’m not there because she is a social worker instead of a wife/mother etc etc. She claims she doesn’t care, and that it shouldn’t bother me so much. She’s an ally.

Bran Stark (younger brother): He doesn’t talk much, but he’s not outwardly hostile. Spends most of his time on his computer, you might not actually see him but he’ll be somewhere on his computer.

Rickon Stark (younger brother): Another ally. Mum had hysterics when he got his first tattoo. Dating Tommen Baratheon (see below) but all the parents are pretty upset about it. Please don’t use their relationship against them though.

Robert Baratheon (Dad’s BFF): He likes to drink and eat. Gets more inappropriate the drunker he gets. He likes pretty young women.

Cersei Baratheon (Robert’s wife): Awful. Shrew. Vicious hellbeast. Terrifying.

Joffrey Baratheon (Robert and Cersei’s older son, my ex bf): He’s actually worse than his Mum. He’s really really awful.

Margaery Tyrell (Joffrey’s gf): She has weaponised her beauty and perfection. And yes she is that beautiful and perfect.

Myrcella Baratheon (R & C’s daughter): Quiet, but nice. She tries to avoid conflict.

Tommen Baratheon (R & C’s younger son): Another ally and all-around precious bean. He’s adorable with Rickon. Studying to be a vet, and he works part time at my clinic.

I think that covers everyone who should be there.

See you on Maidsday evening!

Regards,

Sansa


	2. The Big Event part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s some character assassination going on here, but it’s all in good fun! Hope you enjoy the ride 😊

For their ‘date’, Sandor wore a tight shirt with a band logo on the front. _Bad Pussy ‘Lick the Snake’ Band Tour_ , it said, and featured a human skull, wreathed in flowers with a snake coming out of its eye.

Her mum would hate it.

Sansa loved it.

His jeans fitted perfectly in all the right places. His entire appearance was disreputable, sexy, and totally inappropriate for a high society family gathering.

“You look perfect,” said Sansa, smiling broadly. She wore an exclusive Wylla Manderly dress in a deep forest green, with a sweetheart neckline and an A-line skirt. She typically avoided all society events since deciding to become a vet, not simply family ones, and not getting to indulge her love of fashion was the only thing she missed about them.

They must look an extremely odd couple, with her wearing the North’s hottest designer (who had given her a steep discount because Sansa had once saved the life of Wylla’s cat) and Sandor looking like he’d rolled out of bed after a big night at a concert.

Sansa felt her smile grow wider. “Shall we go?”

Sandor nodded. “Aye.”

He had parked his motorcycle out the front of her little cottage, looking somewhat incongruous beside her bushes of pretty yellow wintersweet flowers.

Sansa wore jeans under her dress, thinking to shimmy out of them when they arrived at her parent’s estate. She didn’t fancy flashing everyone they drove past on the way there.

Sandor handed her a helmet and an old leather jacket. “Save you getting shit on your dress from the road,” he said, nodding at the jacket. “And it will keep you warm.”

It must have been his, because it was enormous on her.

Sandor donned a newer looking jacket and helmet and twisted in the bike seat to help her up behind him. Pressing up against his big body felt oddly intimate and more than ever she was glad for the jeans under her dress.

They sped towards her parents’ house with a roar of the engine, going from the modest area she lived to the wealthy suburbs of the Northern elite.

They pulled up the driveway and parked beside the six-car garage. Sansa pulled off the jeans, helmet and jacket, laying them over the back of the motorcycle. She straightened her hair and clothes as she stared anxiously at the imposing mansion.

Dread crept through her heart.

Why would she subject a man as clearly decent as Sandor to potential jeers and hostility? Was she using his disfigurement for her own horrible purposes?

Her breath started to come in anxious pants. “Sandor, I don’t know if I can do this. I feel like I’m using you.”

Sandor let out a huff of breath of his own and put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Look, I’ll level with you.”

The heat and press of his hand sent warmth straight between her legs and Sansa swallowed hard. “Level with me?”

Sandor dropped his hand. “Aye. This is part of my therapy.”

Sansa blinked, startled out of her stress. “Annoying people’s families because someone wants petty revenge? That’s therapy?”

He was standing so close she could feel the heat radiating off his body.

“I’ve been through some shit that I don’t want to talk about right now,” he said, tapping his scars. “And I hit the bottle after leaving the special forces, caused trouble, had to get mandatory treatment and therapy at the Quiet Isle. I stayed on after I finished the court mandated stuff because they helped me. Now I do favours and help others. I don’t give a fuck if your family thinks I’m ugly, I’m here to help you. By being a dick.”

He sounded utterly sincere, his gaze steady upon hers.

Sansa bit her lip. Her heart went out to him for the obvious pain, both physical and mental, he had been through. His desire to help others made sense. “Okay,” she replied, taking a deep breath calming down. “If you’re sure.”

The unscarred corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “Aye, that’s why I’m here.”

Sansa took more slow breaths. “We can do this. One ruined evening. Then hopefully they’ll leave me alone.”

Sandor stood up straight. “I’ve studied your list and memorised the names. We’ve been together three months, I’m allowed to imply we’re fucking, and I can touch you as needed so we look like a couple,” he said, ticking the items off on his fingers.

“PG-thirteen rated touching,” Sansa added.

“Pretty sure PG-thirteen means tits,” he said with a smirk, though his gaze didn’t shift from her eyes.

Sansa laughed. “You’re incorrigible.”

“No, I’m here to piss off some cunts,” he replied. “Let me know if I go too far.”

“Honestly, I don’t think there’s any such thing as too far with my family. They are all so extra in their own ways.”

They started walking towards the house. Sansa rang the doorbell but opened the door and stepped inside, muttering, “this is fine. Everything is fine.” Sandor touched her shoulder again. A brief touch, but Sansa felt warmth flooding through her.

Her mother rushed into the reception room to greet them, holding a plate of miniature pork pies. Catelyn faltered and frowned when she saw Sandor, but then resumed course with the inexorable forward momentum of a tsunami. 

“Sansa, my darling, you bought a date. I didn’t know you were in a…” her mother halted beside them and looked Sandor up and down, “a relationship?”

“Hi Mum, this is Sandor.” Sansa wound herself about Sandor’s arm. Giving him what she hoped came across as an adoring glance. “We’ve been together for a few months.”

“You must be Katherine,” rasped Sandor, wiping his boots on a finely woven Lysian rug with Sansa still clinging to him. “Sansa has told me so much about you.” His tone of voice made it obvious this was not a compliment. He took a handful of the pies, sniffed them, shrugged, then ate two at once.

“I’m Catelyn Stark,” said her mother, pursing her lips. “Sansa did not tell me about you.”

“Yes, thanks Kitty,” Sandor said after swallowing his mouthful, obviously eyeing the expensive antiques dotted around the room instead of looking properly at her mother. “I can see why Sansa was so keen to avoid coming here.”

Cat Stark blinked several times. “I’m sorry, what?”

Sansa stifled a laugh by letting go of Sandor and coughing into her sleeve. She selected one pie and took a bite. It tasted like all her family gatherings, Northern and cold, but she kept eating.

Sandor gestured broadly around the room with the arm she just freed. “It looks like a fucking mausoleum in here, Kathy. Do all those urns hold the ashes of dead Starks? And why is there a wild mishmash of colours? I saw better décor in jail.” Sandor popped the rest of the pies in his mouth.

“Sansa?” said Cat, scowling. “Is this individual some kind of joke?”

Sansa plastered on a big smile and leaned against Sandor’s large frame. “Isn’t he wonderful? He’s so funny. He always makes me laugh.”

Sandor finished chewing, unhurried, then kissed the top of her head. In spite of herself, her breath hitched at the gentle gesture.

“I can’t wait to fuck you again either,” he announced. “Maybe we should make some babies in one of the spare rooms here. I’ll blast you full of the little buggers, as many as you want. I’ll bet there’s a fuckload of rooms we could use.”

Her mother spun on her heel and marched away, making an audible huffing noise.

“Katie?” called Sandor at her mother’s retreating back. “Is everything okay?”

“You’ll blast me full of babies?” Sansa wheezed through her silent laughter once her mother was out of earshot.

“Isn’t that what she wants for you?” Sandor said lightly.

“Gods, yes. I’m surprised she wasn’t more enthusiastic.”

“Aye, can’t imagine why,” said Sandor, rolling his eyes.

A commotion sounded outside the reception area, and her father and Robert Baratheon came into view. Robert was holding a magnum of sparkling Arbor Gold wine in one hand and a wine flute in the other.

Ned’s steps faltered when he saw Sandor, but Robert’s momentum pushed him forward, staggering him.

“You’re doing good,” Sandor breathed into her ear and her heart gave a flutter. She could almost believe they were really in a relationship when he said things like that.

The praise did complicated things to her insides too, and she had to refrain from squeezing her legs together. She wanted him to tell her that again.

“Hi Dad, Uncle Robert,” she said brightly, shoving any arousal away. “How lovely to see you both. Sandor smooshy bear, this is my Dad and Uncle Robert.”

“Hello sweetie,” said Ned, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Who is, ah, this?”

“SANSA,” declaimed Robert, who also kissed her cheek. He smelled strongly of both whiskey and fizzy wine.

“This is my boyfriend, Sandor,” Sansa said, clinging to Sandor’s arm again. It really was thickly muscled, and she should not have enjoyed doing that as much as she did.

There were several framed family photographs on the wall beside them, mostly old ones, all showing Ned, Cat, and their children. The pictures were large and unmissable.

“Good to meet you, Ned,” said Sandor, holding out his hand to Robert, aiming for the hand of Robert’s that held the huge wine bottle. “Sansa looks just like you. Except hotter, obviously. Sexy as fuck, really.”

Ned glanced at the family photos, then cleared his throat. “I’m Ned Stark.” He had a remarkably similar facial expression to her mother at that moment.

Sandor looked from black-haired Robert, to Ned, and finally to Sansa with a quizzical expression on his face. “Aye?” he said dubiously.

Sansa bounced on the balls of her feet in exaggerated excitement. “I’m so happy to be able to introduce you to Sandor at last, Daddy.”

Ned looked sour. “Yes, this is something of a surprise.”

“I wanted to wait until I was sure we were serious. We are though, I’m so lucky. Aren’t we babykins?” She gazed up at Sandor, fluttering her eyelashes.

He leered at her in return. “Aye, you tell your ‘daddy’, girl.”

“I see,” said Ned faintly. “Well. What do you do, Sandor?”

“I’m an adult filmmaker,” announced Sandor with evident pride. “You might have heard of my works? _Andal Anal Angels_ and _Barely Legal From Braavos_ are probably my best known. Or _Westerosi Water Works_?”

Her father blanched.

“Are you, son?” Robert boomed, handing Ned his empty glass then clapping his hand on Sandor’s shoulder. “Think you can get me on set?” He gave an exaggerated wink.

“There’s a size requirement,” said Sandor blandly.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” Robert replied cheerfully. “King Robert, they used to call me at university. King Bobby Big. Isn’t that right, Ned? Don’t you remember those three women we met at the ice cream social? They called you Naughty Ned too. Gods what a night that was.”

“Why don’t we go and get some fresh air, Robert?” said her father, blushing terribly.

Sansa linked her arm with Sandor’s as her father led Robert away.

“You don’t need me,” Sandor rasped quietly. “Set that drunk fucker on everyone.”

“Everyone just ignores him,” Sansa whispered in reply. She looked up at his scarred face, suddenly guilty that she’d not considered that he might have a day job. “Are you really an adult filmmaker?”

Sandor snorted. “Nah, I’m a paramedic. That’s too fucking respectable for tonight, though. I was thinking used car salesman or anti vaccine campaigner, but I figured porno filmmaker would upset everyone more.”

Sansa giggled quietly, then sobered. “We need to face the others now, too. Gods.”

Sandor squeezed her hand. “I’m here with you. Let’s fuck this up together.”

The attendees seemed to have scattered, something easy to achieve in such a vast house. The Feast of the Mother lasted all evening, with people helping themselves to several courses of small amounts of food, rather than sitting down to a large feast. The set up encouraged Sansa to attend, since she could avoid mass interrogations from her family.

She found Jeyne and Robb in one of the family rooms, with her eleven-month-old nephew Eddy sitting on the rug surrounded by baby blocks.

Jeyne was positioned on a chair, staring intently at her son. Sansa felt a stab of reluctant jealousy. She wanted a family one day, if she met the right person, as unlikely as that seemed. What she didn’t want was for it to define her worth, as she’d told Sandor. She never admitted her desire to anyone, with the certainty it would make the pressure from her family worse.

Robb sat near her, squinting at his phone.

“Hi Robb, Jeyne. This is Sandor.” Sansa slipped her hand into Sandor’s and tugged him towards a couch, where they sat down together.

“Hey Sansa, Sandra,” grunted Robb without looking at her. “Got important work stuff.” He nodded down at his phone. It looked by the motion of his fingers that he was playing a game rather than typing a message.

“Ahh,” replied Sansa, shifting her gaze to Jeyne and Eddy. Her nephew bashed one block against another block, whispering to himself.

“I can’t believe you came,” said Jeyne, giving them both long looks. She gave one of the patented Catelyn Stark frowns when she saw Sandor but didn’t comment. “Poor dear Cat is always so vexed whenever you don’t show up to these important family events.”

Sandor sat back, regarding Robb and Jeyne as he tapped his fingers on his knee.

“I’m sure Mum has enough to keep busy with, instead of bothering about boring old me,” lied Sansa, who knew exactly how desperate her mother was to lecture her. “Anyway, how is Eddy doing? He’s looking big.”

Eddy howled like a wolf and shook his head in a riot of ginger curls.

“Eddy is ahead of all the milestone charts,” said Jeyne proudly, allowing Sansa to distract her. “We’ve got him knowing all his colours, recognising some words and responding favourably to critiques of the artistic works of Aemon Targaryen. Particularly his red period, when he only painted eggs.”

Eddy examined a pink block and chewed thoughtfully on the corner.

“Oh that’s…” started Sansa.

“I want to get him into the gifted and talented programme at his baby preschool,” continued Jeyne, leaning forward and fixing Sansa and Sandor with a gimlet eye. “But they don’t consider his ability to react to paintings as enough. He can count by waving his hands too, he’s on a strict regime of mathematical advancement that your Aunt Lysa advised. We’ve also started piano, the _Concertos For Advanced Babies_ course.”

Sansa blinked several times, unsure how to respond politely.

Eddy turned and smiled at Sansa, waving the saliva coated block in the air.

“Is that all,” said Sandor in a stage whisper into Sansa’s ear. “Fuck me, by age two I was analysing the newspapers for Stockmarket tips. Kids these days are so indulged.”

Jeyne’s mouth fell open, and she gawped at Sandor. Robb kept typing on his phone.

Sandor causally put his arm around Sansa’s shoulders. His torso was just as firm as his arms, and she couldn’t resist leaning into his side.

“So Bob,” said Sandor to Robb, who had hunched fully over his phone. “Sansa says you want to get into politics.”

Robb finally looked up from his phone. “I wish to serve the North,” he said, his eyes widening when he finally took a proper look at Sandor. “Why, do you want an introduction to someone? I’m not sure that would be…”

“Fuck no, don’t need that shit,” rumbled Sandor. “Anyway, Bronn Blackwater is a former squad mate of mine.”

“You know the vice President?” Sansa sat up to look at him. She was impressed, despite growing up surrounded by political figures. There was a certain romance about politics in the South. People from the North never seemed quite as interesting to her. Bronn Blackwater was a popular public figure, though his private life remained the subject of speculation and gossip.

“Aye,” replied Sandor, crossing his arms over his chest. “Spent fucking more time that I care to recall with the fucker.”

Robb finally looked interested. “VP Blackwater. Even Dad barely knows him. Do you think you could introd…”

“Bronn’s a cunt,” said Sandor, examining his fingernails. “Fucked his way to the top. Never met a pussy he didn’t want to plough. Is that what you plan on…”

“Eddy,” said Jeyne shrilly. “Show Aunt Sansa your counting skills.”

Eddy shuffled over, grabbed Sansa’s leg and pulled himself into a standing position.

“Hello sweetling,” said Sansa to him, picking him up. “Do you want to come and see Aunty Sansa? Who’s a gorgeous boy then?”

“Buh!” said Eddy, smuggling into her. She put her arms around him and kissed his soft baby curls.

“Aren’t you the sweetest baby boy, yes you are,” Sansa cooed, and Eddy giggled.

“No Sansa,” said Jayne shrilly. “You must speak proper common to him. No baby talk. He’s an advanced child.”

Eddy batted Sansa’s shoulder with his tiny fat hand and giggled happily. She caught his fist and kissed his knuckles, making the little boy squeal for joy.

“That’s a shame,” said Sandor. “The latest studies say that talking to kids like they are adults hurts their development. He’ll never be able to learn another language, poor little fucker. Stockmarket tips are right out.”

“Well,” huffed Jeyne. “What would a childless person know?”

Robb grunted in what might have been agreement, but that was unclear.

“Mothers know what’s best for their children.” Jeyne sat forward and scowled. “Not selfish people who put themselves above what comes naturally. People who value their free time and hobbies more than what’s important in life. Honestly, the selfishness.”

Sansa gently kissed Eddy again and placed him back on the ground before she stood up. Jeyne’s words stung, and she wasn’t in the mood to endure them. She focused on leaving the room, rather than what Jeyne was still saying. Sandor followed her, for once not speaking.

She headed towards the library, feeling hot tears welling up, but she willed them not to fall. The walk seemed to take forever as she swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Sorry,” she said once they were alone. “I’m being stupid. I thought I was prepared for this crap.”

Sandor touched her elbow. “My fault, she reacted to me being a dick.”

Sansa’s tears fell, and she angrily dashed them away. “No, she’s always like that. The selfishness and all that. That’s what they think of me.”

“Do you want kids?” Sandor leaned against a bookcase.

“Maybe one day,” Sansa said, her voice cracking. “But not because it’s expected of me. I have things I want to do first. Build up my vet practice, travel, do some volunteering. Not churn out babies.”

“You don’t want anyone to blast them into you yet?”

Sansa laughed through her tears. “Not just yet. I’d want to meet the right person to have a family with first as well.”

Sandor stepped closer to her. “Aye you would at that.”

The door to the library crashed open. “What the fuck did you do to her?” Arya said, taking in the scene in a glance then turning her glare to Sandor. She held a plate of candied sweetgrass in one hand.

“This is Arya,” Sansa said to Sandor before looking at her sister. “We’ve been dealing with Jeyne. And Robb, though he was there in body only.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” said Arya, holding the plate out to Sansa. “Here, eat your feelings.”

Sansa gave an unladylike sniff, then selected a stem. “Thanks,” she said in a watery voice.

Arya took a sweetgrass for herself and proceeded to speak with her mouth full. “Jeyne’s insufferable. Last time she tried that shit with me I told her I was planning on renting out my womb to help repopulate the Deep Ones population and that I would insist on naming every newborn fish person after her.”

“Now you, I hate the least,” said Sandor to Arya as he reached over and took several of the stems. “Even if you are half Sansa’s size and clearly not fucking related. The rest can fuck off.”

Arya looked him up and down. “I’m reserving judgement on you,” she said archly.

Sansa swallowed her mouthful. “Arya looks like a proper Stark,” she said. “I take after our mum, worse luck.”

Arya gave a snort, before stuffing her mouth with sweetgrass again. “Poor you Sans, it must be so hard being tall, hot and ginger. Speaking of which, Robb’s addicted to that new mobile game, King in the North. He keeps pretending he’s working, but that’s a lie.”

“I’ve never heard of it.” Sansa frowned. All Robb usually did was talk about his work with their father, not obsess about his phone.

“That’s because all you do is work. And apparently now hire escorts to upset the family. There’s no fucking way this is legit, by the way.” Arya shot Sandor a long stare.

“I’m not getting paid,” interjected Sandor. “This is a volunteer gig.”

Arya made a dubious noise, but continued talking. “Anyway, Bran hacked his account, so Robb keeps getting murdered every time his character goes to the Twins Keep. It’s pretty funny. He’s been trying to get past that part for fucking weeks.”

“I would say that’s mean, but it meant that he didn’t lecture me about family duty.”

“Exactly, we’re all spared his perfection for the moment.” Arya gave Sansa a stare. “Anyway, what’s the deal with you two? Mum’s whisper shouting at Dad in the kitchen about you both. Joffrey, Cersei and Princess Perfect are on their way inside so I came to warn you. The next course of tiny ridiculous dinner snacks is almost ready. I had to steal this lot before Rickon found it.”

“Sandor’s doing me a favour. I needed a jerk boyfriend for the evening to ruin the dinner.”

Arya appeared to be considering this. “Interesting tactic. Next time why don’t we just not attend and go to the movies instead?”

“It’s mostly been fun. Sandor told Dad he was an adult filmmaker.”

“Yeah, figured that couldn’t be real. I didn’t believe you would realistically date a porno guy, but our parents are too outraged to think it through.”

Sansa gave her eyes a final wipe. “Okay, I’m ready. I can get through this.”

“Remember, we can ditch any time you want,” said Sandor after Arya had darted off to face the grim reality of the gathering. “I’ll even buy you dessert.”

“That actually sounds lovely, if things get worse,” Sansa said, then paused and licked her lips. “That sounds lovely in general.”

“Aye, it does.” Sandor’s voice was soft. “Let’s talk about it after we finish here.”

Sansa’s heart fluttered again, and she nodded.

“And Sansa?” Sandor said in a low voice.

“Yes?”

“You’re doing really good.”

The praise caused a jolt of arousal and Sansa whimpered involuntarily.

Sandor’s eyebrow shot up and he muttered something that sounded like “that’s how it is, is it?” as they exited the library.


	3. The Big Event part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got long! It's hard to do comedy with Cersei and Joffrey, because ~yikes~, but I hope you enjoy the route I took with them 😁

Sansa sipped on her glass of sparkling water. Wine would have been the preferable option, but she didn’t want to risk any dulling of the senses during the execution of their plan to ruin everyone’s evening. She had purloined a plate of parsley and date stuffed quail's eggs, so she and Sandor were enjoying those. He had already eaten eight to her two.

She eyed Sandor, who was nursing a glass of cola and looking around the receiving room with undisguised interest.

“Too many antiques,” he murmured to her. “I’m worried I’ll break something worth more than I am.”

What Sansa really wanted was for Sandor to tell her she was doing good, but instead she replied, “just imagine trying to be a child here. I learned very early to keep quiet and still, to behave as a perfect little lady. Arya and Rickon weren’t so lucky, they were constantly in trouble.”

Sansa looked around and spotted Cersei heading towards them. The older woman was launching herself forward on unsteady feet, like the drunken prow of a ship in rough seas.

Sandor followed her gaze. “Well, that one’s pissed.”

“She’s very fond of wine,” Sansa replied quietly as Cersei reached them. “Like husband, like wife.”

“Sansa, my dear little dove. Goodness, you must be working hard.” Cersei looked Sansa up and down. “Working too hard. Did you not have time to shop for something suitable to wear? Was that from the Dothraki second-hand shop?”

Sansa knew the green Wylla Manderly dress suited her. The neckline was flattering, it skimmed her waist nicely and flared out to a skirt she could twirl in. It even had nice, deep, useful pockets because Wylla insisted all her dresses contain them. Cersei always made her feel awful, empowering pockets or not.

She gave a neutral hum. “Yes, Cersei, I certainly work hard. My job is important to me.”

Cersei waved her wine glass at Sansa, the doubtless expensive red wine threatening to slosh over the rim. “You must have a word to Tommen. He said he’s been working increased hours for you? It’s a terrible waste of time.”

“Only cunts like animals,” said Sandor as Sansa paused to try and come up with an appropriate response.

He placed his cola glass down on a nearby sideboard, without a coaster, then linked his hand with Sansa’s. Their fingers loosely wove together, her smaller hand engulfed by his, and her heart warmed.

“Really Honeybunny?” replied Sansa lightly, “that’s quite a generalisation.”

He glanced at her, his eyes alight with humour in his otherwise taciturn face. “Could never understand why people would become vets to save them or help them. Much better to be something worthwhile like a social media influencer.”

Sansa tapped her foot, pretending to consider Sandor’s words. “I do have a Westergram account, but I usually put cute photos of my clients up. I should change my approach and do some bikini shots.”

“That’s the fucking spirit.” Sandor bought their joined hands up to his lips to kiss the backs of her fingers, and that aroused Sansa almost as much as when he had praised her. “Animals away, tits out.”

Cersei frowned, clearly unsure if they were joking. “Tommen has a place waiting at the family firm. In this political climate, we all need a strong hand to stop radicals putting in extreme policies. Neutering stray cats and mangy dogs is hardly a good use of his time.”

“My cat Stranger is a fucking dickhead,” mused Sandor, as if Cersei hadn’t spoken. “Sleeps on my lap, shares my steak, lies on top of my books. Moults everywhere too, seven hells.”

“He sounds terrible,” said Sansa to Sandor, her voice dry. She squinted at his shirt and sure enough, there were a few stray cat hairs. Despite Cersei’s malevolent presence beside them, Sansa giggled and brushed the visible fur off Sandor with her free hand.

His face was deadpan, but his eyes still looked amused. “Aye, and he curls up against me in bed at night, fucking purring and all that shit. No ideas why anyone would be a vet to help the little bastards.”

Clearly undeterred by Sandor’s tactics, Cersei continued on. “Have you said hello to Joffrey and Margaery yet, Sansa? They were so looking forward to seeing you. I believe Margaery wanted to tell you all about the charity work she was doing for those Yi Ti people. Why they need our help in Westeros instead of going home to where they would fit in, I don’t know, but she seems to enjoy it. I hear the High Garden clothing label has greatly benefitted from all the extra apparel the refugees have been sewing, and she barely has to pay them at all.” Cersei eyed Sansa’s dress again. “Perhaps you might seek some fashion advice from Margaery, little dove? She always looks appropriate.”

There was a lot to unpack about what Cersei said, particularly about the fact Margaery seemed to be running a sweatshop, but Sansa’s stomach crawled at the mention of Joffrey. She assumed a bland smile, anyway. “I’m sure we’ll see them any minute now.”

“Joff quite broke poor Sansa’s heart, I’m afraid,” Cersei said in Sandor’s general direction before taking a swig of wine. “Though there’s no need to say the nasty things you claimed about him now that you have moved on, yes my dear?

Sandor squeezed Sansa’s hand, and she glanced up at him. He swiped his thumb across her palm, and she took strength from the wordless support.

He transferred his gaze to Cersei then, peering at her intently. “Where one goes, all others shall follow.”

There was a heavy pause.

Cersei finally looked properly at Sandor, lowering her wine glass. “Have you taken the green pill?” she said in hushed tones.

“The Valyrian Conspiracy,” rasped Sandor, quiet and ominous. “My eyes have been opened.”

“They are everywhere, the truth must be freed and acknowledged,” said Cersei, looking around, wild eyed.

Sandor inclined his head. “Green pill the world, and free garlic bread from its mind controlling properties.”

“The deep state has reached our bread?” Cersei said in horrified times. She seemed to have forgotten about Sansa.

“Only garlic bread. The letters in garlic add up to three hundred and eighty-five, which is the number of the…” Sandor stopped and looked behind him, then back at Cersei. His voice was a dark rumble, “of the dragon.”

Cersei clapped a hand over her mouth. “There is garlic bread in the kitchen. I need to stop that Stark woman serving it. We’ll all be enthralled. I can’t have my children used as tools.”

Sandor nodded sombrely. “Spare us all from the deep state.”

Cersei rushed off, the wine slipping over the edge of her glass in her haste to depart.

Sansa had no idea what they had been talking about, but it made about as much sense as her usual interactions with Cersei. She pursed her lips. “What just happened?”

Sandor shrugged expressively. “Used to work with a guy who was into that fringe conspiracy fuckery. Bunch of cunts, the lot of them. Figured Queen Cunt there had to be a fan of that shit.”

“What’s the Valyrian Conspiracy?” asked Sansa, intrigued despite being unsettled by the previous mention of Joffrey. Everyone learned about Old Valyria in high school history, but the peninsula had been destroyed over a thousand years ago and existed permanently as a barren and uninhabited wasteland.

Sandor snorted in derision. “That dragons still exist, but they can morph into humanoid form and they’ve infiltrated the Westerosi government. It’s fucked up.”

Sansa blinked several times. “Shape-shifting dragons? The magical extinct dragons, but in humanoid form?”

“Aye, that’s the one.” Sandor gave her hand a final squeeze, then let go so he could finish the rest of his cola. It sat in a puddle of condensation on the sideboard and he gave the wood a desultory rub with the heel of his hand before shrugging and placing the glass back on it. 

“How did you know so many specifics?” Sansa placed her own glass beside his, but on a coaster.

“I made the garlic bread shit up. The rest of it Trant used to spout at us.”

“Well, I feel like I’ve learned a lot.” Sansa huffed a laugh. “Anyway. That was literally the most positive interaction I’ve ever had with Cersei. Thank you.”

“That’s what I’m here for. If she gives you shit, start claiming you know about the dragons having their fire breath spread over the sky in government-controlled aircraft to make us pacified and docile. That’ll keep her busy.”

“Gods.” Sansa made a face.

“You can handle these cunts. I’m just distracting them from you for tonight.” He looked at her, his gaze intent. “You’re doing really fucking good,” he said, his voice a gravelled rasp.

Sansa whimpered involuntarily at his words, her face flushing hot. “Sandor,” she said, her voice suddenly hoarse.

Sandor cleared his throat. “Remember how I said I kept things professional on these gigs?”

Sansa tipped her head to look at him properly. “The, ah, no sex rule?” Her cheeks warmed as she spoke.

“Aye, that’s the one.” He reached up and cupped her face. “I’ve come to the conclusion it’s a fucking stupid rule.”

He leaned in to kiss her and she’d never wanted a kiss more.

His lips were sweet from the cola and the scarred side of them was rough against hers. She clutched the front of his t-shirt, his body rock-hard under her knuckles. Time seemed to stop when she was in his arms, all the stress and drama of attending the family event fading away to insignificance.

He hummed in evident pleasure and Sansa opened her mouth so they could deepen the kiss. She tangled her fingers in his hair, revelling in the closeness of the man she hadn’t known for long but was rapidly becoming enamoured with.

He stroked his fingertips over her jaw and the shell of her ear as they kissed, and the gentle touch made her feel precious and valued.

She pressed her face against his bristly neck when they broke the kiss, and Sandor wrapped his arms around her. She hardly knew him, but he felt right, like he should have a place in her heart and in her life. The distant sounds of the party fading to irrelevance with their embrace.

“Gods, Sandor,” she said, finally finding her voice.

He kissed her again, tilting her head up carefully and giving her a gentle brush of the lips. “You want to finish fucking with the rest of the cunts?”

“Yes. Though I’d like to find my brother Rickon first and say hello.”

Sansa guided him out of the receiving room and towards the main living area.

“How the fuck do you remember what each room is? Too many fucking doors,” Sandor grumbled. “I keep thinking your family are going to jump out at me from any one of these doorways.”

“It takes practice, though we used to use them to scare each other when we were kids.” Sansa smiled at him. I prefer my little cottage. One living space and two bedrooms. Much easier to manage.

“Aye, better to live in a home than a mansion. Stranger and I have a one-bedroom cabin on the edge of the Wolfswood. No neighbours, only trees.”

“Sounds peaceful, I’d love to see it.”

“I’d like to show you,” Sandor rasped softly.

“Psst Sansa,” came a voice from one of the rooms as they passed.

Sansa smiled and tugged on Sandor’s hand, and they entered a room filled with the stuffed heads of Northern wildlife.

Rickon and Tommen looked up at them in unison. They had spread a rug on the floor, and on it placed a bottle of wine, two glasses and several plates of Catelyn Stark’s most prized food dishes.

Sansa examined their cozy set up with some envy. “Hey Tom, hey Ric. What are you hiding in the trophy room?” she asked, eyeing the food appreciatively, “and how did you convince Mum to let you have an entire roast turkey?”

Rickon grinned and pulled a drumstick off the beautifully presented roast bird. “Obviously she has tragically misplaced one of the celebration turkeys. And they won’t find us in here, it’s the perfect hiding spot. No one comes into the trophy room except Dad, and he’s too busy trying to be Robert’s drinking buddy tonight.”

Sansa made a face and looked around the walls at the various wildlife, pausing on the ancient direwolf head hung above the fireplace. Why her ancestors would have wanted to kill, stuff, and mount their old house sigil was beyond her. “That’s because the trophy room is creepy.”

“Exactly,” said Rickon through a mouthful of turkey. “I don’t know why Tom is so squeamish. You must see worse as a vet.”

“It’s the glass eyes, Ric, they are judging me.” Tommen selected a morsel from the plate of marinaded vegetables and took a bite. “Also that lion over there looks like it wants to eat that stag, and for some reason it reminds me uncomfortably of my parents.”

“Weirdo,” said Rickon fondly to Tommen, then looked up at Sandor. “So, who’s the bear?”

Tommen choked on his marinated artichoke and Rickon thumped him on the back.

Sansa frowned, unsure exactly what Rickon meant. “This is Sandor, he’s my date for tonight. He’s not a Mormont though.”

Tommen turned bright pink and Rickon grinned broadly.

Sandor rasped a laugh. “I can see the resemblance between you and that sister from the library, even if you don’t look alike,” he said to Rickon.

“Yes, Arya did mention you,” Rickon conceded. “Though she described you as Sansa’s gigolo.”

“Rickon Stark!” said Sansa indignantly. “That’s not what this is.”

Sandor shook his head. “Just here to fuck shit up.” Despite his words he shot her a look reminiscent of the one he gave before they kissed, and Sansa’s knees went wobbly.

Tommen gave a thoughtful hum and exchanged a significant glance with Rickon before taking a plate and holding it up. “Skagosi oyster?” he asked, jiggling the plate invitingly.

“Or we have eggplant fritters,” said Rickon, grinning. “Arya made them, so they are dick-shaped. She told Mum they are eggplant fritters shaped like eggplant, so Mum didn’t realise.”

Sansa studied the fritter plate, impressed. Arya had long since perfected the art of hiding offensively shaped food in plain sight. Her adults-only pancakes were already legendary amongst most of the Stark siblings, but the fritters looked even better.

“I’ll stick to oysters,” said Sandor, fitting five onto the palm of his hand.

“Yes, I’ll have an oyster,” said Sansa quickly, unwilling to eat a penis-shaped item of food in front of Sandor.

“Yes, good,” said Tommen, before putting the oyster plate down and selecting a fritter.

The oyster was delicious, complemented perfectly by the fire-pepper sauce that was a traditional part of the dish. “You didn’t say exactly why you were hiding in here with all the nicest food,” said Sansa when she’d finished her mouthful. “Or were you sick of making small talk?”

“If we didn’t want to talk, we’d just find Robert and he’d talk at us.” Rickon selected a turkey wing and gestured with it as he spoke. “Maximum socialising with minimum effort. Plus, it’s funny when the big guy pretends Tom and I aren’t gay.”

Tommen sighed audibly. “Mum’s in the kitchen ranting about garlic bread. I think she drank too much again. She’s saying something about dragons? We grabbed the food and ran to hide in here.”

Sansa exchanged a glance with Sandor. He smirked at her.

“So I sent Myrcella in to deal with her,” Tommen continued. “It was her turn. I had to pick Mum up from the vegetable section of Umber’s organic grocery last week when she went off at one of the managers.”

Sansa clapped her hand over her mouth. “Your poor sister. Will she be okay?”

Tommen waved a dismissive hand. “She’s fine. Uncle Tyrion bought her a taser, so that’s improved her confidence loads.”

Sandor looked up from his oysters. “Tell your sister to look up Brienne of Tarth’s gym. It’s just off Main Street, can’t remember the name. Sapphire something. Bri runs self defence courses, I help her out from time to time, show the women how to incapacitate and get away from someone bigger than them. Better self defence than a taser.”

Sansa wouldn’t have thought Sandor could get any sexier, but it turned out she’d been wrong. She stared at him for several seconds. “You help women defend themselves?” her voice came out embarrassingly breathy. She was desperate to kiss him again.

Sandor shrugged. “I don’t advertise that one, but aye. Too many sick fucks in this world who want to hurt other people.”

If two other people hadn’t been in the room with them things might have gotten heated, but Tommen’s voice cut through Sansa’s ardour. “Thanks man, I’ll let her know. We’ve both had enough shit in our lives, but Myrcella got it worse.” Tommen looked sad as he spoke, and Sansa knew he was referring to the horrible treatment the siblings had endured at the hands of Joffrey over the years.

Rickon reached over and grabbed Tommen’s hand, then pulled it up to kiss his knuckles. The little gesture of support reminded her of what Sandor had done when they’d talked to Cersei before their kiss.

“So Sansa and Tom work together?” said Sandor lightly.

“We do,” replied Sansa. “It’s been great having another almost-qualified vet around.”

Tommen smiled, though he kept hold of Rickon’s hand. “That reminds me, Sansa, how’s Mr Fluffers doing?”

“He’s doing great!” Sansa grinned as she thought about Mr Fluffers Tarly, an enormous orange tabby cat owned by some of her favourite clients. “Sam and Gilly are picking him up tomorrow. The wound is healing nicely with just a little localised swelling. You did a beautiful job on the stitches.”

Tommen selected a mini capsicum with his free hand. “And Moira Glover?”

“She went home yesterday. I got a cute photo before she left though.” Sansa pulled her phone out of her pocket, mentally thanking Wylla for the convenience, and found the photo to show Tommen. Moira the little calico cat was sitting in a neatly arranged cat-loaf position on Sansa’s desk, the bald patch and dressing on her neck the only sign of her surgery.

“She’s always so adorable,” said Tommen fondly. “Feisty too, I still have that scar on my arm from her claws.”

“This is what they are like,” said Rickon to Sandor. “It’s all cute animal photos or gory tales of surgery with these two. There’s no happy medium.”

“I have a calling,” said Tommen loftily. “You’re just jealous I have more cute photos of pets than I have of you.”

“Sorry Ric,” said Sansa, smiling. “Just wait until I get the next batch of rescue kittens.”

Rickon’s phone buzzed and he glanced at it. “Shit, we’re sprung. The message is from Arya. Mum knows we’re hiding, and she’s on the warpath.”

“Better scatter,” said Tommen, jumping to his feet.

“Back to the evening then,” said Sansa to Sandor, making a sour face.

Sandor nodded towards the food. “Leave the turkey. It’ll blend right in.”

Sansa pulled Sandor further down the hallway while Tommen and Rickon scurried off in the opposite direction. Between each of the many doorways was a plinth with busts of ancestral Starks. They’d frightened Sansa as a child, all those long, dour faces from the past.

Her heart fell when she saw who was poised at the end, blocking entry into one of the family rooms.

“Sansa! How lovely that you came,” said a voice dripping with warmth.

Sansa didn’t believe that tone for a second. She would have looked behind her to see who Margaery was talking to had she not used Sansa’s name. “Hi Margaery. How are you?”

“I didn’t expect to see you here. Darling Cat always says how sad she is that you always avoid both Stark and Baratheon family gatherings. She calls me the daughter she always wanted.”

“Well, you know, I’d hate to have too much fun,” said Sansa, deliberately keeping her voice even. “And I’m quite sure Jeyne is the daughter Mum always wanted.”

“Hmm. And who’s this, ah, person?” said Margaery, looking up at Sandor with barely a flinch when she saw his face.

“My boyfriend, Sandor,” said Sansa, looping her arm through Sandor’s.

Margaery pursed her lips. “I see. Well, aren’t you open minded, dating someone… like… that.”

“We’re very happy together,” Sansa replied reflexively.

“What can I say, I like to eat pussy,” said Sandor blandly, in the same tone of voice someone would use to discuss purchasing a jar of pickles, or comment on an interesting cloud formation. “Need to keep my beloved happy.”

Sansa didn’t do a double take, but it was a close-run thing. “Isn’t he marvellous?” she said cheerfully instead, though in a slightly high-pitched voice.

Margaery’s face had turned a unique shade of mottled red and white, probably because Sansa knew exactly how much Joffrey disliked such activities. She wondered for a moment if Sandor was telling the truth, but she shoved that thought away to consider later.

“Cersei tells me you’ve been running a sweatshop too?” Sansa said into the loaded silence. “How kind of you to give struggling refugees ‘work experience’.” Sansa made air quotes.

Sandor rumbled an agreement beside her. “Clearly you are multi-talented. I wonder what my mate at the Human, Deep Ones and Ancient Peoples Rights Commission would think about that one?”

Sansa looked up at him. “Do you have friends everywhere?” she asked, intrigued.

Sandor snorted. “I wouldn’t call Thoros a friend. He’s a daft cunt, but we put up with each other. I meet a lot of people through my line of work.”

“He’s in the pornographic movie business, obviously,” said Sansa to Margaery, speaking with the same blandness with which Sandor had announced his apparent sexual proclivities.

Sansa knew that Margaery rarely got rattled, but she looked between Sansa and Sandor, clearly trying to figure out what was going on.

Sansa felt her smile slip as Joffrey came up behind Margaery, putting his arm around her.

“Sansa, I was just telling your father how much I was anticipating seeing you tonight.” Joffrey’s gaze switched from her to Sandor and his mouth dropped open. “What the actual fuck?”

“Hi Joffrey,” said Sansa. Her stomach crawled seeing his face again and all the horrible cruel taunts he used to throw at her hovered beyond the edge of her hearing as she looked at him. She had once thought him handsome, with his perfect features and golden hair, but his personality made him rotten to the core.

The satisfaction of spoiling the family evening seemed to slip away then, and Sansa couldn’t face putting up a charade in front of someone so irredeemably nasty as her ex. “I think I can hear Arya calling me,” Sansa lied, glancing up at Sandor’s face, so much more appealing than Joffrey could ever be. “Let’s go and talk to her.”

Joffrey stepped closer. “I was wondering how you found anyone desperate enough to fuck you, Sansa, but I see why.” His voice was loud, and Sansa wondered if the other guests could hear him. He had always hidden his cruelty far from prying eyes and ears, and his newfound boldness surprised her. “Did someone bring him into your little clinic? Gods, he’s like a mangy dog. When we take back the government, people with defects will be institutionalised, and rightly so.”

Sansa looked up at Sandor again. His countenance was as calm as it had been for most of the evening, but he’d tilted his head to the side and was regarding Joffrey quizzically.

She squeezed his arm. Regardless of his placid expression, his arm was tense and hard. She remembered how gentle his kisses had been and she just wanted to leave the house and get him alone.

“Does it not speak?” sneered Joffrey. He leaned closer to Sandor and spoke slowly in a loud voice, “enjoying my sloppy seconds, dog?”

His crude words made Sansa feel sick from anger and embarrassment. It was her fault Sandor was here to get spoken to like that, regardless of his desire to help her. She tugged on his arm, which didn’t budge. “Let’s find Arya. We’ve wasted enough time here.”

Joffrey laughed. “No need to be so triggered, Sansa. Don’t you want to defend your ugly boyfriend? Is his horrible face your kink?”

Sandor suddenly slapped his thigh with his free hand. “That’s where I’ve seen you.” He nodded at Joffrey. “A couple of weekends ago he and some of his buddies went to a strip club and tried to harass the performers. This little cunt got aggressive when they told him no. The strippers beat him up and tossed him out. We were called to patch him up, found him sitting on the curb, crying about unfair it was, how the strippers were being overly sensitive. Beric had to treat him, I was too busy laughing.”

His words had the ring of truth, and Sansa stared at Joffrey. He looked like someone had slapped him. Margaery’s face had gone completely white.

“You said you were injured by a gang of radicals who were offended by your right to say whatever you wanted without any consequences?” Margaery said, scowling at Joffrey.

Sandor chuckled. “One of the girls said he’d first tried to pay them with his ‘giant dragon cock’, said he’d show them a good time. Then he started going on about weird shit, asking the girls to cut each other with knives and role play as shapeshifters while he beat off.”

Sansa experienced a complicated series of emotions, mostly involving regret she’d ever met Joffrey.

“How could you?” hissed Margaery. “You’d promised you’d stop that crazy stuff.”

“It’s not true,” said Joffrey, looking discomforted and clearly lying. “The freak is making it up.”

“Good luck mate,” said Sandor, grinning at Joffrey then kissing the top of Sansa’s head. “You wanted to go through here, Sansa? I’ve seen more than enough of this idiot to understand why you ditched him.” He gestured towards the family room.

They moved away and with a roar of rage Joffrey seized the nearest weapon, which happened to be the stern bronze face and shoulders of Bran the Builder, and launched himself at them. For a split second all Sansa could think was that it was a far bolder move than she would have expected from Joffrey, who was half Sandor’s size and usually relied on other people to do anything physically violent at his behest. As she instinctively raised her arms to protect herself, Sandor whirled in front of her and he took the hit from the bust on his back.

Margaery shrieked in alarm as Bran the Builder clanged onto the floor, and she ran off in the direction of the kitchen.

Joffrey jumped onto Sandor’s back with teeth bared, clearly attempting to punch the back of his head.

Sandor spun around, pulled Joffrey off his back as easily as Sansa would handle a misbehaving puppy, and grappled the wildly flailing man. Sandor smashed him facedown on the floor, holding him prone in one of those moves that Sansa had only seen in action movies, with Joffrey’s arms twisted behind his back and one of Sandor’s knees keeping him down.

“Cowardly little fuckwit,” muttered Sandor. “What the fuck was that shit?”

It was, Sansa had to admit, oddly sexy seeing Sandor take down Joffrey without breaking a sweat.

“Let me go, you big bastard,” said Joffrey indistinctly.

“You going to behave?” rasped Sandor, looking at Joffrey with distaste.

“You’ve broken my fucking nose,” said Joffrey, sounding increasingly muffled.

“I can break more than that, you poxy little cunt.” Sandor gave Joffrey’s arm a slight tug, and the grappled man started snivelling.

“By Bum id goin’ to sue you for by ninjuries.”

“We should probably go,” said Sansa, taking a deep breath. “They’ll believe his word against ours, I’m afraid. And Cersei is very free with her lawsuits. Last year she tried to sue one of the Dothraki tribal councils over in Essos because they’d chosen to remove the public statue of a Khal who ordered the murder of an entire city a few hundred years ago.”

“It’s alright, I heard everything.” Ned Stark emerged from one of the doorways, with Arya at his side.

Sandor looked around, finally looking startled. “Seven Hells, do people really hang around lurking in doorways here? Waiting for something to happen?”

“You seemed competent enough to handle this,” said Sansa’s father. “And I’d suspected my daughters were both accurate in their assessment of Joffrey’s character.”

Arya looked wide eyed down at Joffrey, then aimed a kick at his side. “That’s for always being a cunt to my sister.” She looked at Sansa and hissed, “You need to marry this huge fucker. That ninja move was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Sansa ignored Arya and her father and spoke to Sandor instead. “I still want to leave. I don’t have the emotional energy to deal with the fallout from this right now.”

Sandor looked up at her, holding the now struggling Joffrey still with no apparent problem. “You want to go out to dinner? I know a guy who runs a decent Free Folk place, if you don’t mind the smell of sour goat's milk.”

“Dyou’re all worbless cunds,” moaned Joffrey impotently through his tears.

“You’re asking my sister out on a real date with our dad here while her shitty ex lies bleeding under your knee?” Arya sounded awestruck. “Shit, I’m telling Gendry he needs to up his game.”

“Wait,” said Ned, raising his voice over the sound of Joffrey’s sobbing. “I thought you’d been together for months?”

“Yes, I’d love to,” said Sansa hurriedly. “Let’s get out of here before Arya proposes to you.”

Sandor stood up and looked down at Joffrey, who obediently stayed on the ground. “Do you want me to set your nose? I’ve got my medical kit on my bike.”

Joffrey shook his head and whimpered.

“Aren’t you an adult filmmaker?” said Ned, frowning. “Does that require medical training?”

“Time to go,” said Sansa, slipping her arm through Sandor’s, tugging him towards the front door. She could now hear the outraged sound of Cersei’s voice coming closer. “Um, bye.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” said Arya, grinning lasciviously.

“Bye you little shit,” said Sandor to Arya, then looked at her father, “bye Naughty Ned.”

“Goodbye,” said her father weakly, barely audible over Joffrey’s pitiful groans.


	4. Dinner and "Dessert"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please ensure you've read the tags for this fic and are comfortable with that kind of content, because things get a bit spicy in this one! 
> 
> Thanks for reading this story, it was a lot of fun to write 😁

“This acorn paste is amazing,” said Sansa, plucking a morsel from the plate of oatcakes and dredging it in the flavoursome contents of the earthenware bowl.

Sandor nodded, chewing on a mouthful of steak. “Aye, Tormund does good shit,” he said after he swallowed. Sansa marvelled at his ability to eat an enormous meal after snacking all evening at her parent’s house. “Opens late too, I often come here after a shift. I can never be fucked cooking after work.”

“Do you enjoy being a paramedic?”

Sandor swirled the water in his glass, considering her question. “Aye,” he replied finally. “Keeps me busy. I was a medic in the special forces, so it seemed to be the best way to use my training once I came home and sobered up.”

Sansa sat back in her chair and smiled at him. “Probably more rewarding than being an adult filmmaker.”

“That’s debatable,” said Sandor archly. “People enjoy porn.”

Sansa laughed. “True.”

“Do you like being a vet? Worth all the shit you get from your family?” Sandor took another mouthful of steak after asking his question.

Sansa dunked a chunk of oatcake in the acorn paste, spreading it around with the tip of her finger. “Oh yes, I adore it. I’ve always loved animals, and now I get to spend all day every day with them.” Sansa shrugged. “What’s not to love?”

They chatted for hours, conversation flowing with ease until the small hours of the early morning. Sansa almost forgot the turmoil of how their evening began. What she hadn’t forgotten was their kisses. She wanted more.

“Sandor,” she said abruptly, as the man in question took a sip of his hot chocolate. Apparently, Tormund, the jovial red-headed man who ran the establishment, regularly made him a concoction called the ‘Clegane special’ which was a strong hot chocolate with vast amounts of marshmallows and whipped cream. Sansa’s spiced tea was very nice, but she’d been eyeing Sandor’s elaborate hot chocolate with some envy.

“Aye?” he replied when he’d swallowed his mouthful.

“Thank you for helping me out tonight. It was…” she paused and licked her lips, recalling their kisses. “…not what I expected.”

Sandor looked from her lips to her eyes, quirking the corner of his mouth up in a smile. “It was my fucking pleasure.”

Nerves fluttered in Sansa’s stomach, but she barrelled on. “I don’t normally do this sort of thing,” she said, willing herself not to blush at what she’d planned on saying next, “but would you like to come back to my place tonight? After we finish here. I don’t want this night to end.”

Sandor’s eyebrow raised. “You want to fuck?” he asked bluntly.

Regardless of her attempt at self-control, Sansa’s face flushed hot, but she didn’t mind that Sandor wanted to be clear about what she meant. “I… um, yes. That.”

Sandor nodded slowly and twirled his spoon in the molten marshmallow slicked over the top of his hot chocolate. Sansa’s heart raced at the pause. “I like you,” he said finally. “To be completely fucking honest, I don’t want a one-night stand. I’ve had enough of those in my life, I’m done with that soulless shit.”

Sansa let out the breath she’d been holding. “I’d be interested in dating,” she said, then grinned at him. “The proper you, not the annoy-my-family you.”

He leaned over the table then and cupped her face before kissing her. The kiss was sweet, both literally and figuratively, but he pulled back before they got too carried away. “You want to get going then?”

Excited arousal swept through Sansa, and she restrained the urge to giggle hysterically. “Yes, I do.”

He took her hand as they walked back to where he’d parked his bike. They passed the twenty-four-hour chemist and Sansa had a thought. She tugged Sandor to a standstill and stood on tip toes to whisper in his ear, “Do you have any condoms?”

He pulled back to look at her and said in a normal voice, “Aye, in my medical bag.”

“Really?” said Sansa, matching his volume and suddenly intrigued. “Why there?”

“They are fucking useful if things are going to get wet.” Sandor ran his calloused fingertips gently down her cheek as he spoke, his gentle touch contrasting with his matter-of-fact words. “We used to keep our guns in them to stay dry, but that trick works for other shit in civilian life as well. Phones mostly, though I put them over bandages sometimes too. Condoms are stretchy as fuck.”

Sansa leaned into his caress. “Huh. I never knew they were so versatile. I should try that on my patients.”

“Good luck explaining to people why their beloved cat has a condom on its leg.” Sandor finished his sentence by kissing her, deeply, thoroughly, until they were both breathless.

They eventually made it back to his motorbike, stopping several times to kiss again.

He kissed her when they arrived at her house too, before removing what was presumably his medical bag from under the seat of the bike.

Sansa’s hands shook as she unlocked her front door, anticipation making it hard to focus on anything other than Sandor. Her elderly brown and black striped cat, Florian, opened one eye and murped a sleepy greeting from his place on his favourite chair, but otherwise didn’t get up.

“I thought you must have a house full of pets,” Sandor murmured, “being a vet.”

“No, just Florian,” said Sansa, “though sometimes I’ll foster kittens until we can find homes for them. Florian is a grumpy old man, but he is good at teaching proper cat behaviour.”

She took Sandor’s hand and tugged him through to her bedroom, pulling him down for a kiss when they entered the room.

She buried her face in his neck when they broke apart, momentarily overwhelmed by the intensity of her attraction to Sandor, apprehensiveness about what was about to happen. “Do you want to lie down on the bed?” she blurted.

He huffed a laugh, but she felt him nod. “Aye.”

She positioned herself on her bed, twitching the covers aside, and watched as Sandor placed his medical bag on the floor. He retrieved a small box from it and tossed the box on her bedside table. The bed dipped then as he stretched out beside her.

They lay side by side, fully clothed on her bed, Sansa’s heart racing.

She gave a rueful laugh. “Sorry, I wasn’t nervous until now.”

Sandor rolled to face her and leaned his head on his hand. “You call the shots. If you want to stop, we stop, no questions asked. You need me to go home, that’s fine too, no hard feelings. You want to cuddle all night and not fuck, that’s all good.”

She reached out and placed her hand on his chest, the connection calming her nerves. He was reassuringly warm and solid. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I know you said you had decided the no sex rule was stupid, but I’d hate for you to violate a code of ethics.”

Sandor snorted a laugh. “I’m not a superhero, I won’t lose my powers if I fuck someone I’ve helped out. This is a volunteer gig, remember?”

She regarded him for several moments, then leaned in to kiss him again. He rolled onto his back, tugging on her until she was sprawled half on top of him.

“You are so fucking sexy,” he murmured against her lips.

Sansa raised her head a little and smoothed Sandor’s hair back so she could see his face clearly. She stroked the back of her hand down the scarred side, his damaged skin ridged and bumpy against her knuckles. “So are you,” she said with complete honesty.

He pulled her into another kiss, the most passionate one they’d shared yet. His hands rested on the sides of her ribcage, and he grunted as she pulled away. He followed this with a contented hum as she sat back on her heels and unzipped her dress at the side.

Sandor sat up smoothly and pulled his t-shirt over his head then flung it on the floor. Sansa wiggled enough to do the same with her dress, though she tossed it over the laundry hamper so it wouldn’t crumple.

Sansa was momentarily relieved she’d worn matching bra and underpants tonight, even if they were a utilitarian black with minimal lace. Sandor was eyeing her with undisguised hunger and looking at him Sansa was sure her facial expression mirrored his. Sandor’s naked torso was a work of art, hairy, thickly muscled and covered with tattoos underneath the hair. Some were recognisably meaningful, like the seven-pointed star, inked in red over his heart, which was the international symbol for medical personnel. Others intrigued her, like the three snarling dogs on his shoulder, or the sword over his ribs.

She wanted him so much her hands had started to tremble in anticipation.

She licked her lips. “Gods, Sandor.”

They kissed again, and only parted long enough to shed their underwear too. Sandor’s naked body felt perfect against her own skin, and Sansa wanted to drown in sensation. His erection jutted out aggressively, thick and long. She reached down to stroke him, but he intercepted her hand, bringing it up to his lips for a kiss.

“Lie on your front,” he rasped, his lips looking swollen from all the kissing they’d been doing. He kissed her palm again and let it go, reaching out to brush his fingertips over one of her breasts, circling her stiff nipple before pulling his hand back and clearly waiting for her to obey him.

Sansa raised a quizzical eyebrow but did as he asked, folding her arms to rest her head on them. She looked at Sandor. His gaze upon her was still heavy with blatant lust.

Her sensitive nipples rubbed pleasurably against the sheet, making her squirm with the sensation.

He ran one finger slowly down her spine, shifting himself close to her side. Sansa liked the reassuring comfort of his big body near to her, the velvet steel of his erection pressing against her thigh. She couldn’t wait to have him inside her, as close as it was possible to be.

“Your arse is fucking perfect,” he rumbled.

He tapped her bare bottom then, just enough to sting a little.

She gasped, then moaned at the sensation.

He hummed appreciatively. “That okay?” he murmured in her ear. “Tell me if it’s not and I’ll stop.”

“I like it,” she whispered in return, then twisted so she could look at his face. His expression was intense, his unscarred cheek flushed with arousal. “Please do it again.”

Sandor licked the shell of her ear, sending a pleasant shiver through her body. “So fucking polite.” He gave her bottom another tap, a little harder this time. “And what if I told you that you were a very good girl for enjoying it.”

“Oh my gods,” Sansa moaned and arched towards him. She would never for a moment have guessed someone’s words might have such a profound effect on her.

He chuckled and smoothed his hand up and down her back before smacking her bottom, then rubbing to soothe away the sting.

“I really fucking enjoy making good girls come,” he said as he spanked her again. “Are you going to be a good girl and come for me tonight?”

He’d barely touched her any more intimately than spanking her, but Sansa arched her hips towards him again, the ache between her legs almost unbearable. 

“Sandor.” She didn’t recognise her own voice in the breathy moan she spoke. “I want you to make me come.”

This smack was the hardest yet, sounding loud in the quiet room. Sandor rubbed the pain away. “Aye, you’re a good girl for enjoying this.” He kissed the round of her shoulder. “And I bet you’ll love having my cock inside you.”

“Yes, I will,” she gasped, and he spanked her again.

“I wonder if your cunt is as pretty and pink as your arse now is,” Sandor said, nudging her thighs further apart with the back of his hand.

Sansa could only whine and squirm, desperate for him to touch between her legs and give her some relief. She felt Sandor move into position behind her, pulling up on her hips so she was on her knees with her top half still resting on the bed. The sting of another spank flared up and she gasped. His hand rubbed away the pain then moved down, finally ghosting along her centre with a feather light caress.

“Pink and wet,” rumbled Sandor. “Beautiful.”

“Touch me properly, please,” she breathed. “It feels so good.”

Sansa had never been so frantic to be touched intimately. Her whole being focused on the desperate throb between her legs, the intensity making the other sensations flooding her body pale in comparison.

She cried out at the next spank, this one soothed by a kiss. The bristles of his beard tickled, and she pushed herself more towards him. He huffed a low laugh then kissed her lower lips, exploring them with his tongue but avoiding her clit entirely.

“Please, Sandor. Please,” she moaned. “Please, I need you.”

“Since you asked me so nicely.” His lips brushed against her as he spoke, but then he sat back. This time Sandor’s fingers slipped inside her and she clenched her internal muscles hard around them, seeking relief.

He started a regular thrusting with his fingers, patterned with spanks with his free hand. Before long Sansa was sobbing with pleasure, pushing back against him, pursuing more stimulation.

“I need more,” she whimpered, hardly coherent to her own ears.

The next smack was the hardest of all, and Sansa cried out. “Do you want to come?” Sandor said in a low voice. “Only good girls are allowed to come.”

“I am a good girl, I promise I’m a good girl,” she babbled. “Please Sandor, please.”

He shifted so he could move the hand that had been spanking her between her legs to circle her clit, and Sansa pressed her face against the bed to muffle her cries of pleasure as she came hard.

He gathered her into his arms and stroked his hand soothingly down her back as she drifted down from the force of her climax with her head resting against his hairy chest.

“I need you inside me,” she slurred eventually, before gathering her wits and raising her head to look at his face. “Please.”

He cupped her jaw with one huge hand, his expression tender. “You sure?”

“Everything you’ve done has been for me tonight,” Sansa said, before moving herself up to kiss Sandor. “I want you to enjoy this too.”

He snorted, absently stroking her breast with his free hand as he spoke. “Seeing my handprints on your beautiful arse was almost enough to make me blow my load like a green boy. I assure you I’ve been enjoying this more than enough.”

Sansa hummed before moving her hand down his body to stroke his manhood. He leaned back against her pillows and groaned. “But you like this too?” Sansa kept her voice light and teasing.

Sandor’s lips twitched in a small smile. “Aye, your hand on my cock is pretty fucking good too.” He eyed her hungrily. “I imagine your cunt will feel even better wrapped around me.”

Sansa swiped her thumb over the head of his erection, smearing the bead of fluid that had gathered there. “I want you inside me now,” Sansa said, still wobbly from her orgasm but compelled by the sight of Sandor’s desire for her. “Please,” she added, looking through her eyelashes at Sandor.

He put his arms behind his head and gazed at her intently. “Be a good girl and roll the condom on my cock and then I’ll fuck you.”

Sansa was out of practice with condoms, but she retrieved it from the box and rolled it on successfully. She sat back on her heels and ran a fingertip down Sandor’s hairy thigh. “How would you like me?” she asked.

Sandor shook his head. “Lady’s choice,” he rasped. “I want you to be a good girl and tell me exactly how you want my cock.”

Sansa had never considered before this evening how deeply someone’s words could arouse her, but every time Sandor spoke, she felt like the most desirable woman in Westeros. She wanted to voice her desires to him, to be clear on what she wanted, what she needed, even though saying the filthy words would normally be embarrassing. “I want you behind me like we were before,” she said, her words gaining in strength the more she spoke. “I want you to spank me while you’re inside me.”

Sandor surged up and pulled her into a passionate kiss. “Fuck yes,” he said when they stopped kissing to catch their breath. “You are going to come hard all over my cock, I can promise you that.”

She spun away from him to arrange herself on forearms and knees. Sandor groaned approvingly as he positioned himself behind her, then slid inside without any more preamble.

He stayed still, stroking Sansa’s lower back and bottom with both hands as she adjusted to him. “Tell me when you’re ready for me to slap your pretty arse again.”

The length and girth of him took some getting used to, but pleasure sparked from where they were joined, through Sansa’s whole body. She let a long breath out and consciously relaxed. “Now, please,” she said.

The spank came straight after she spoke, and Sansa squealed and tightened up around Sandor. He started to thrust as he caressed her bottom with his hand.

Her whole reality narrowed to the ecstatic heat of Sandor moving in and out of her body, the sting of pain when he spanked her and the soothing words he used as he rubbed the sting away. “You’re doing so fucking well,” he murmured. “I wish you could see how fucking beautiful you are like this.”

Sansa didn’t care how she looked at that particular moment, because all she was able to think about was the pleasure starting to crest from the spot he was hitting inside her. “Sandor,” she managed in a rough moan before words failed her.

“Good girls come all over my cock,” he said, punctuating his words with another smack of her bottom.

Her pleasure spiked and Sansa’s legs shook with the force of her orgasm. Only Sandor’s grip stopped her toppling sideways. He slowed his thrusts as she climaxed, murmuring praise that she hardly heard through her own moans.

His movements were still slow and steady as she recovered, face buried in the pillow and throat sore from all the noise she’d apparently been making.

“Harder, Sandor,” Sansa said, her voice almost as raspy as Sandor’s. “Fu… um, fuck me hard until you come too.”

She couldn’t believe her own boldness, but Sandor made a pleased noise in the back of his throat. “There’s my good, dirty girl. You tell me what you want. You want more of my cock?”

He sped up his movements again.

“I want you to feel good too,” she said, voice jolted by the pounding of Sandor inside her.

She relaxed into it as Sandor’s movements became more erratic and he groaned out his own orgasm, gripping her hips hard.

She flopped onto her stomach when Sandor released his hold on her, her arms and legs wobbly with remembered pleasure. He disposed of the condom in her bin and lay down beside her. She rolled on her side, so they were spooning, and he put his arm over her in a comforting embrace.

Sansa relaxed utterly; all tension gone from her body after a crazy evening that ended in earth shattering orgasms.

“Thank you, Sandor,” she murmured eventually. “For everything.”

He kissed the back of her head. “It was my pleasure. I look forward to doing it again.”

Memories of everything he’d done for her that evening flittered through her memory and she giggled. “So do I,” she replied.


End file.
